IOTHE-LOST-FR1END 


•' 


AUGUSTE  ANGELLIER 


TO  THE  LOST  FRIEND 

A  Sonnet -Sequence 


From  the  French  of 
AUGUSTE     ANGELLIER 


BY 

MILDRED  J.  KNIGHT 

AND 

CHARLES  R.  MURPHY 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN    LANE    COMPANY 
MCMXVII 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 
BY  SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

The  one  hundred  sonnets  in  this  little 
book  are  translations  from  a  volume  of 
Auguste  Angellier,  entitled  A  L'AMIE 
PEEDUE.  The  translators  have  endeav- 
ored to  make  a  selection  from  the  orig- 
inal sonnet  sequence  that  will  in  no  wise 
break  the  slender  thread  of  the  story. 

The  free  riming  scheme,  as  shown 
in  the  original  French,  has  been  fol- 
lowed to  a  large  extent,  so  that  neither 
Shakespearean,  nor  the  Italian  form  of 
sonnet,  has  been  strictly  adhered  to. 


2134149 


AMISS.E  AMIC^E 


IT  was  the  time  when  buds  on  chestnut  trees 
Opened  against  the  April's  gusty  sky; 
Violets  were  for  sale  to  passers-by 
In  the  bright  streets,  perfuming  every  breeze, 
When  first  I  saw  her  face — then  across  these 
Somber,  entangled  flow'rs  I  read  the  cry 
From  out  her  heart  her  proud  lips  would  deny, 
And  in  her  eyes  saw  long  despair  of  peace. 
At  that  my  pity  for  the  sad  Unknown 
Broke  trembling  into  bloom ;  and  as  I  loved, 
The  summer  opened  into  perfect  flower; 
The  first  full  roses  fell  as  in  a  shower, 
And  to  the  May  sky,  deep,  blue,  and  unmoved 
The  chestnut  trees  held  blossoms  fully  blown. 


[3] 


IT  was  the  time  when  buds  on  chestnut  trees 
Opened  against  the  April's  gusty  sky; 
Violets  were  for  sale  to  passers-by 
In  the  bright  streets,  perfuming  every  breeze, 
When  first  I  saw  her  face — then  across  these 
Somber,  entangled  flow'rs  I  read  the  cry 
From  out  her  heart  her  proud  lips  would  deny, 
And  in  her  eyes  saw  long  despair  of  peace. 
At  that  my  pity  for  the  sad  Unknown 
Broke  trembling  into  bloom ;  and  as  I  loved, 
The  summer  opened  into  perfect  flower; 
The  first  full  roses  fell  as  in  a  shower, 
And  to  the  May  sky,  deep,  blue,  and  unmoved 
The  chestnut  trees  held  blossoms  fully  blown. 


WHENCE  came  to  narrow  streets  'neath 
narrow  skies 

Of  this  dull  town  set  in  a  barren  place, 
The  power  and  the  beauty  of  her  eyes 
And  brow,  like  some  clear  carven  Roman  face? 
She  should  be  moving,  quiet  and  alone, 
In  clinging  robes,  her  pale  brow  bound  with 

green, 

Among  a  white-robed  train,  across  the  stone 
Of  Temples  where  dwell  goddesses  serene.  .  .   . 
What  strange  mad  tides  and  wanderings  of  the 

races 
Have  borne  her  here,   across  wide  times   and 

spaces 

Among  a  puny  people,  whose  pale  faces 
Surround  this  flower  with  strength  and  pure- 
ness  fraught, 
And    here    to    brick-built     city-streets     have 

brought 
A  marble  fragment  exquisitely  wrought? 


[4] 


AMONG  the  many  eyes  that  seek  her  own 
What  hope  have  I  that  my  humility 
Can  draw  her  thoughts  from  purer  things  to 

me, 

And  make  her  gaze  a  space  on  me  alone? 
This  speechless  love  of  mine  she  will  not  guess, 
But  it  shall  follow  her  untiringly, 
Even  till  age  has  withered  all  of  me, 
Patient  and  taciturn  and  comfortless. 
Nor  is  that  all  the  pain  I  must  receive; 
For  I  am  preyed  upon  by  gnawing  dread 
Lest,  in  the  end,  not  knowing  how  I  grieve, 
She  let  some  other  hand  rest  on  her  head 
And  to  some  other  heart  lay  bare  her  heart — 
The  while  in  silence  still  I  must  depart. 


[5] 


I  BRAVE  the  efforts  of  thy  cruel  wrath 
O  love,  thou  tyrant  of  the  human  breast ! 
My  blood  will  flow  upon  the  thorny  path 
As  I  mount  higher  in  life's  stern  behest, 
My  lips  will  keep  their  secret  still  untold 
When  my  feet  make  red  the  higher  rocky  way, 
My  heart  will  beat  with  gladness,  proud  and 

bold, 
Though  one  last  mortal  wound  thou  should'st 

essay ! 

Thy  hounds  of  torment  press  me  hard,  and  yet 
The  smile  shall  gleam  upon  my  tortured  face, 
I  know  my  soul  endowed  with  God-sent  grace; 
The  strength  to  suffer  greater  than  thy  pain, 
The  power  of  hoping  stronger  than  thy  threat, 
The  will  to  love,  in  hopeless  hope,  in  vain! 


[6] 


WHEN  the  stars  of  the  Great  Bear  rise  o'er 
the  roof 

Of  the  somber  garden,  and  in  the  silent  town 
One  hears  the  great  bell  tolling,  sad,  aloof, 
At  peace  by  the  open  window  I  sink  down. 
It  is  the  hour  when  thou  art  near  to  me. 
The  glare  and  clamors  of  the  day  confuse 
My  prayer  that  my  closed  eyes  thy  face  may 

see, 

Thy  face,  twilit,  revealed  'neath  swathings  loose 
Of  some  ethereal,  purple,  twilight  veil, 
In  whose  mysterious  folds  the  stars  shine  pale; 
Thy  face,  that  wears  as  a  clear  silver  light 
A  look  of  tender  calm.     From  out  the  night 
Sometimes  the  nightingales  are  heard;  and  so 
I  wait  till  thou  art  lost  in  white  star-glow. 


OUR  eyes  alone  have  mutely  told  the  tale 
Of  love  newborn,  of  hidden  joys   and 

fears ; 

Thine  eyes  to  mine  their  sadnesses  unveil, 
I  see  the  long  heartbreak,  divine  the  tears, 
And  know  the  tenderness  in  dusks  that  sweep 
Sometimes  across  their  dreamy  pools  of  light. 
My  eyes  tell  of  the  vigils  that  I  keep 
Before  thine  imaged  face  so  proud  and  white — 
So  that,  by  now,  a  spirit-love  is  spun 
From  soul  to  soul,  in  meetings  of  our  eyes, 
And  when  we  meet  amid  the  throng,  then  run 
Our  hearts  to  one  another  with  sweet  cries — 
As  some  lone  lighthouse  to  a  distant  one 
Speaks  with  its  light  across  the  seas  and  skies. 


[8] 


II 


eyes  caress  more  sweetly  than  the  lips, 
A       They   open   doors    and   windows   of  the 

heart 

Whence  rare  secret  after  secret  slips, 
Murmurous  of  beauty,  hidden  and  apart. 
The  purest  kisses  are  too  fierce  and  gross. 
The    eyes    speak   with   a   power  beyond   mere 

words ; 

They  only  can  express  the  grieving,  close, 
True   thoughts   that  come   and  pass,  as   swift 

as  birds. 

When  age  has  traced  the  mouth  with  bitter- 
ness 

And  saddened,  too,  the  smile,  the  eyes  still  keep 
Their  beauty  clear,  made  to  console,  to  weep, 
Endowed  with  love  and  with  all  tenderness. 
What  kiss  can  be  diviner,  through  the  years, 
Than  the  beloved's  eyes  that  fill  with  tears? 


[9] 


Ill 


WHEN  I  shall  clasp  her  under  the  rose- 
bower, 

On  you  I  wish  that  my  first  kiss  may  fall, 
Dearly  beloved  eyes,  whose  speaking  power 
First  made  my  soul  respond  to  her  soul's  call. 
I  wish  that  you  may  feel  on  closed  lids 
The  first-dews  of  the  dawning  of  my  love, 
You   sources   of  the  dawn-fire   that  now  bids 
Me  dare  the  promise  of  my  love  to  prove. 
And  that  you  may  reopen  with  changed  light 
Dear  eyes,  and  dreams  of  a  new  world's  de- 
light 

By  sweet  assurance  of  a  love  long  true, 
Sweet  eyes  and  sad,  so  my  first  kiss  shall  be 
Set  as  a  seal  of  all  my  love  on  you, 
The  love  devoid  of  hope  that  came  to  me. 


[10] 


IV 


AND  when  'mid  trembling  clusters  of  the 
rose, 

On  the  lonely  bench  in  the  avenue 
Where  the  long  evenings  linger  to  a  close, 
She  lay  against  my  breast,  and  then  when  you 
Were  hid  beneath  your  lowered  lids,  dear  eyes, 
And  seemed  to  wait  the  kiss  that  I  had  dreamed 
Of  pressing  there,  before  her  tears  should  rise ; 
And  when  this  moment  drew  anigh  it  seemed 
That  I  forgot  your  vows,  your  agonies, 
And  how  much  you  had  wept,  oh  pitiful  eyes, 
And  that  I  ought  to  consecrate  you  mine; 
E'en  so  my  promise  I  forgot  to  keep, 
And  at  her  mouth's  warm  font  of  love  divine 
My  longing  lips  drank  thirstily  and  deep. 


RESIGNED,  sweet  eyes  to  whom  I  was  un- 
just, 

On  whom  fell  not  the  first  long  kiss  of  all 
That  there  I  left  upon  her  lips,  you  -must 
Forgive  me,  you  who  gave  love's  first  low  call. 
The  memory  of  you  is  sovereign  still, 
Although  my  lips  sought  hers  on  that  wild  day, 
And  dearer  than  her  lips  are  eyes  that  fill 
With  sweetness  that  her  lips  wish  to  unsay. 
What  kiss,  despite  its  burning  tenderness, 
Can  my  heart  frame  that  equals  your  caress? 
Sometimes  it  is  my  heart  that  from  you  cries, 
Sometimes  I  hold  your  wistfulness,  dear  eyes, 
Here  in  my  heart  and  breast — Oh,  smile  and 

bless 
My  hidden  love  with  wordless,  sweet  replies. 


[12] 


ASYRINGA  blooms  in  a  dreamy  garden- 
close, 
Down   a  rough  pathway  where  the   grass   is 

rank, 

Near  a  moss-stained  bench  beneath  the  flank 
Of  an  old  wall  where  shadows  deep  repose. 
A  heavy,  sickly,  waxen  flower  it  shows 
And  foliage  of  frail  leaves,  pale  and  lank. 
For  a  short  time  when  June  glows  on  the  bank 
A  powerful  perfume  from  the  blossom  flows. 
But  not  so  dear  the  crimson-flowering  rose 
To  me,  for  it  was  there  that  on  a  day 
Her  heart  that  had  so  long  been  folded  close, 
Fell  open  to  the  core,  as  flowers  may; 
So  I  revisit  the  dreamy  garden  and  stay 
To    muse    where    the    fragrant,    pale    syringa 

grows. 


[13] 


ODAY  that  stands  in  all  my  life  supreme, 
Like    a    deep-stained   window    burning 

there 

Above  the  somber,  shadowed  transept  bare — 
A  flower  of  amethyst  and  scarlet  gleam. 
When  the  impetuous  hours  have  sunk  to  rest 
Whose   slow  march  tortures   me  with  hateful 

care, 

O  Portal,  wide  to  Heaven's  radiance  blest, 
You  hold  my  soul  enrapture'd  from  despair! 
And  as  a  pilgrim,  wending  his  lone  way 
Along  the  gray  and  wind-swept  highland  plain, 
Enters  the  sheltering  church  and  seeks  to  pray 
From  weariness  of  heart,  in  low  refrain, 
Kneeling  before  the  saintly  image  there; 
So  do  I  kneel  to  Memory  in  prayer. 


[14] 


II 


AND  there  before  me  in  that  wondrous  glass, 
A  radiant  maid,  clothed  in  purest  white, 
Was  standing  on  the  flower-enameled  grass 
Amid  the  beauty  of  a  woodland  site ; 
Across  the  tender  meadow,  where  she  stood, 
A  little  brook  of  clearest  tone  did  ring; 
A  nightingale  sang  in  the  deeper  wood ; 
Heaven    was    thoughtful    with    the    new-born 

spring. 

And  then  I  saw  that  maid  lean  kindly  there 
To  one,  who  at  her  feet  in  silent  prayer, 
Did  kiss  her  hands  with  deep  humility. 
And  then  I  seemed  to  hear :     "  'Tis  thou ;  to 

thee 
She   gives  her  hands   with  love's  profoundest 

grace !" 
O     highland     winds,     I     greet     your     rough 

embrace ! 


[15] 


MY  heart  was  marble  set  'mid  vine  and  thorn 
That  lay  in  a  byway  where  the  world 

could  see, 
Where  chance  would  carve  a  word,  to  be,  in 

scorn, 

Removed  by  rains  that  washed  it,  ceaselessly. 
But  love,  uprooting  many  a  thorn  and  tare, 
Threw  them  aside  with  a  stern  face  and  hand, 
And  slowly  'graved  upon  the  surface  bare 
One  name,  cut  deep  and  lasting  as  a  brand. 
Then  all  the  place  he  fenced  with  chain  and 

rope; 

At  the  four  corners  statutes  he  set  out, 
Marble  within,  but  clad  with  bronze  about — 
They    were:     Proud    Pardon,    Memory,    and 

Hope, 

And  Loyalty — like  sentinels  of  Kings 
Guarding  throughout  all  time  eternal  things. 


[16] 


THY  mouth,  so  long  a  rebel  to  my  love, 
Received  my  kiss  without  returning  one, 
Surrendered  not,  unwilling,  neither  strove 
Against  my  mastery  that  quickly  won. 
And   while   thy  looks   like   clear  brook-waters 

gave 

A  shadow  of  thy  shy  confession,  yet 
The  kisses  paused  upon  thy  lips  so  grave, 
Trembled,  and  fell  not,  though  our  lips  had 

met. 

At  last,  in  one  short  moment,  glad  and  swift, 
When  thy  soul  had  forgot  its  stern-set  law 
And  leaned  in  pity  and  in  wondering  awe, 
Thy  lips  at  length  to  mine  thou  didst  uplift 
And  gave  the  kiss  that  was  thy  heart's  first 

gift— 
But  deeper  sadness  in  thine  eyes  I  saw. 


L17] 


WHEN  thy  first  kiss  I  felt  upon  my  brow 
Pride  leapt  within  me  and  a  flame  of 

bliss 

Like  the  long  ray,  that  suddenly  aglow, 
On  the  dark  mountain  tops  falls  as  a  kiss 
Of  light  and  breaks  the  band  of  somber  cloud. 
My   brow  deserved   thy   touch  being  free   of 

stain, 
And  I   have  kept   quite   pure   and   clear   and 

proud 
The  dear  place  where   thy  lips  have  sweetly 

lain. 

When  thy  first  kiss  upon  my  lips  I  felt 
There  was  no  triumph  ringing  in  my  heart, 
The  hot  blood  did  not  surge,  nor  my  heart 

melt; 

I  stood  confused  and  humble,  pale,  distraught, 
Feeling,  beneath  this  kiss,  sacredly  pressed, 
The  scorching  shame  that  other  kisses  brought. 


[18] 


WITHIN  the  little  forest  that  had  grown 
Upon  the  hill,  you  gave  your  hands  to 

me; 

But  spring  already  claimed  it  as  his  own — 
Flung  wide  his   door  from  which  we   seemed 

to  see 

A  rioting  race  of  birds  and  leaves  and  flowers 
Over  the  ancient  moss-grown  trunks  to  poise 
And  fall  from  there  pell  mell  in  scattering 

showers, 

Excited  by  the  cuckoo's  lusty  noise. 
The  trees  were  interlaced  with  new-born  gird 
Of  leaves  that  burst  from  limbs  so  lately  bare ; 
Beneath  this  roof  of  verdure,  thrice  we  heard 
A  voice  that  cried  through  the  sweet-scented 

air: 

"To-day  may  all  from  Love  no  more  refrain, 
And  those  who  have  loved,  let  them  love  again !" 


[19] 


WHITE    rose-tree!    you    whose    tangled, 
twisted  spray 

Climbs  up  to  meet  the  iron  balcony, 
Twines  on  its  rounded  bars,  there  to  display 
Your  curling  leafy  tendrils  wantonly; 
White    rose-tree!   you    who   bear    such    waxen 

flowers 

As  grace  a  snowy  altar,  candle-wise 
In  the  white  month  of  virgins ;  or  in  showers 
Bestrew  a   tomb   wherein   a  sweet   maid   lies — 
White   rose-tree !   hide,   oh   hide   the   blood-red 

rose 

The  only  one,  that  my  torn  hand  stained  red 
With  blood,  as  I  drew  from  that  last  and  close 
Embrace  upon  the  balcony,  where  late 
I  clung  in  the  supreme  farewell — then  fled 
From  her  whom,  secretly,  I  won  from  Fate. 


[20] 


rilHE  light  of  heaven  is  colored  like  a  frail 
A       And  wearied  turtle-dove  at  dying  day; 
And  heavy  lilacs  fill  the  misty  vale 
And  bats  have  now  commenced  their  evening 

play; 

A  nightingale  is  singing  in  the  wood, 
The  eve  has  scattered  its  sweet  scent  around, 
The  dew  has  sown  with  pearls  the  leafy  hood; 
The  leaves  above,  the  flowers  on  the  ground, 
The  moss  upon  the  gnarled  trunks  of  trees, 
Shine  forth  in  strange  and  delicate  relief 
Where  flow  the  unearthly,  brooding  reveries 
Of  a  bird  that  murmurs  its  eternal  grief. 
Come,   lend   the   wood   thy   magic   grace,   and 

show 
Thine  eyes   of  blue  beneath  the  moon's   soft 

glow! 


THE  little  house  close  by  the  murmuring 
stream, 

Where  we  did  pass  two  months  so  sadly  sweet, 
Dost  thou  recall?     How  fair  the  Spring  did 

gleam 

On  the  soft  lawn  that  spread  about  its  feet! 
Out  from  the  terrace,  with  its  girdling  stone 
And  vase  of  palest  blue,  we  saw  in  flight 
The  rolling  fields  recede  in  shimmering  light ; 
Near  by  the  stream  sang  out  its  monotone. 
But  then  we  had  to  part ;  I  still  can  see 
The  water's  blush  as  early  rays  shone  o'er 
The  calm  of  its  untroubled  purity, 
The  little  boat  that  softly  from  thee  sped, 
The  farewell  that  thou  madest  from  the  shore, 
Where  rose-trees  grew,  one  white,  the  other  red. 


MAY  this  sonnet  be  like  the  galleys  of  old, 
Resplendent  with  their  load  of  ornament, 
Where,  beneath  a  tent  of  silken  gold, 
The  queen  reclines  in  royal  abandonment. 
May  its  gorgeous  words  like  banners  float 
Above,  triumphant  in  the  restless  air; 
Let  the  charmed  voice  and  lingering  note 
Of  lute  and  cymbal  echo  proudly  there; 
And  may  this  ship  of  state  move  o'er  the  sea, 
The  sea  aglimmer  with  its  silvery  sheen; 
May  the  soft  winds  still  blow  in  amity 
Upon  its  sails  of  changing  argentine; 
Thy  name  it  carries  on  in  singing  rime 
O'er  the  uncharted  space  of  fleeting  time. 


[23] 


O  SCULPTOR,  look  thou  well  at  this  dear 
face, 

To  catch  the  beauty  of  its  spacious  brow 
So  pure,  the  beauty  of  these  eyes,  the  grace 
Of  feature  that  appears  divine!     And  now 
Look  thou  again,  0  Sculptor,  and  surprise 
The  proud   disdain   of  these   chaste  lips,   the 

light 

Of  love  so  warm  from  out  these  tender  eyes. 
Seek  thou  a  block  of  marble,  virgin-white; 
See  that  thy  chisel  be  as  pure  and  bold, 
As  that  of  some  deft  Grecian  man  of  old ; 
Keep  thou   thy  heart  now  humble,  lest,  per- 
chance, 

Thy  cunning  be  dismayed  by  puissant,  still, 
Soft  beauty  from  this  noble  countenance; 
For  by  my  verse,  the  world  shall  judge  thy 
skill.  ' 


[24] 


FROM  the  very  first  I  knew  how  thy  life's 
way 

Had  led  thee  from  our  human  joys  apart 
Where  thou  couldst  gather,  some  less  dreary 

day, 

Rarely,  a  hopeless  hope  to  thy  starved  heart. 
And  that  is  why,  poor  hunted  thing,  I  pray 
My  life  may  be  for  thee  a  place  apart 
From  the  hounds  of  grief;  I  would  be  balm  to 

stay 
The  bleeding  and  to  soothe  the  tears  that  start. 

0  weary  bird  that  flutters  in  the  dark, 

1  would  cherish  thee,  and  heal  the  cruel  mark 
Of  fear,  and  comfort  thee  that  in  the  end 
Thou   shouldst  forgive  thy  lot   so  drear  and 

gray. 

I  would  make  strength  and  tenderness  to  blend, 
And  Love  a  blessing  on  thy  lonely  way. 


[25] 


THOU  wouldst  be  loved  for  thine  own  self 
alone — 

The  love,  of  pity  born,  thou  dost  declare, 
Would  soon  be  like  a  treasure  that  had  grown 
Too  heavy  for  thy  wounded  soul  to  bear; 
Thy  haughty  pride,  so  quickly  put  on  guard, 
Would  wish  that  love  should  cherish,  not  re- 
lieve ; 

The  equal,  longed-for  union  would  be  marred, 
If  only  one  should  give  and  not  receive. 
Yet  it  was  Pity  led  my  heart  to  thine; 
Greater  than  thy  beauty  was  thy  grief, 
And  Pity  led  the  way  to  tenderness. 
My  heart  made  plaint  for  thee ;  I  did  divine 
The  pain  that  in  thine  eyes  cried  for  relief, 
Before  I  loved  thine  eyes'  own  loveliness. 


[26] 


II 


YES,  Pity  brought  me  to  thee!     I  did  see 
Her  by  the  row  of  chestnut  trees ;  the  sun 
Hung  like  a  brazier  burning  steadily, 
Beneath  the  wind-rock'd  clouds  with  gold  be- 

spun. 

There  softly  luminous  upon  the  hill 
Where  innumerable  iris  flowers  grew, 
She  beckoned  me  to  come,  and  paused  until 
I  followed  her  soft  mantle's  changing  hue. 
By  dark  and  wand'ring  paths  where  met  our 

glance 

The  sad  white  briar  flower;  above,  obscure, 
The  sky  took  on  its  somber  radiance; 
Along  the  edge  of  marshes'  dim  expanse 
Where  the  day's  last  glimmer  did  endure, 
I  followed  her  mysterious  advance. 


[27] 


Ill 


YES !     Pity  brought  me  to  thee,  even  so, 
Through  night  where  trembled  a  lucidity 
Shot  with  the  silver  dust  of  stars'  soft  glow, 
Through  night  where  blew  the  scent  of  dittany. 
Short  was  the  time  to  me ;  and  when  a  blade 
Of  pearl  and  crystal,  lighted  in  the  sky, 
Had  chang'd  to  a  far-gleaming  rose-red  shade, 
Pity  came  in  silence  and  stood  nigh. 
I  saw  thee  in  a  lily-pattern'd  field 
Where   honied    roses    gave    their    souls'    sweet 

yield ; 

But  when  I  turned  to  see  again,  behold, 
Love  had  driven  Pity  far  away; 
And  then  the  heavens  burst  with  streaming  gold 
And  everywhere  appeared  triumphant  day! 


[28] 


IV 


AND  while  these  rays  fell,  inexhaustible, 
I  saw,  within  that  radiancy  of  sky, 
These   heavenly   roses   bloom,   innumerable, 
And  blaze  out  like  a  beacon-fire's  reply. 
And  as  in  some  cathedral  glass  of  old, 
The  Virgin  seems,  in  glory  standing  there, 
To  see  what  worth  a  beggar's  vow  may  hold, 
You   seemed   to   hear   with  kindness   my   deep 

prayer ; 

The  golden  shower  of  light  that  did  arise, 
Gave  place  to  tender  light  from  out  your  eyes. 
When  Love  revealed  you  to  me  in  his  bower, 
Within  his  hands  the  somber  iris  lay 
That  Pity  in  her  arms  I  saw  display, 
Mixed    with    rose-buds    but    partly    come    to 

flower. 


[29] 


SEEK  thou  the  calm  of  sleep  upon  my  breast, 
Dear  wearied  one,  wistful  and  sorrowful ; 
And  for  thy  heart  I  wish  as  deep  a  rest 
And  quiet  as  a  lake  where,  in  the  lull 
Of  fierce  pursuit  the  trembling  deer  seeks  deep, 
Safe  shadow,  while  the  hounds  bay  in  the  vale. 
Sleep  in  my  arms,  the  while  in  thy  sweet  sleep 
All  cruel  memories  may  lose  the  trail, 
Abandoning  the  prey  they  persecute. 
But  thou,  forgetting  all  the  fear  and  flight, 
Shalt  thank  them  for  the  sudden  new  delight 
That  would  be  hidden,  save  for  their  pursuit ; 
So  shelter  thee,  forsaken,  destitute, 
Upon  my  breast  from  perils  of  the  night. 


[30] 


HE  who  took  thy  life,  made  thee  his  own, 
He  says  he  loved  thee ;  as  though  one 

should  tear 

A  hawthorn  blossom,  should  a  moment  wear, 
Then     leave     it     trampled,     by     the     wayside 

thrown. 

Wearied  of  his  stage-love,  he  became 
Fretful  of  thy  purer  soul  and  strove 
By  cruelty  to  punish  thee  for  love. 
We,  being  strong,  must  pity  more  than  blame, 
Since    every    wound    he    struck    thy    quivering 

heart 

Anguished  his  own  in  ways  we  do  not  know. 
And  it  may  even  be  that  in  the  course 
Of  sunsets  on  far  distant  shores,  there  start 
To  life  within  his  mind  regrets  that  grow 
And,  unrelenting,  darken  to  remorse. 


[31] 


MY   well-beloved,   hast   thou   seen,    toward 
night, 

The  crows  regain  the  tall  cathedral  spires? 
They  seem  to  startle  with  their  spiral  flight 
The  last  soft  glow  of  day  as  it  retires. 
The  shadows  gather,  and  the  moon,  so  faint, 
Follows  the  dim  inscriptions  on  the  floor; 
Again  and  again  is  heard  their  dreary  plaint 
In  sudden  lulls  of  restless  wind's  uproar. 
But  when,  at  the  first  rays  of  hast'ning  dawn, 
The  joyous  choir  of  bells  is  brought  to  life, 
Their   black-winged    swarm   in    sluggish   flight 

is  gone. 

0  morning  bells,  so  full  of  playful  strife, 
Scatter  the  dark-winged,  brooding  agony 
That  sinks  upon  my  heart  so  heavily ! 


[32] 


THE  owl  said:     "I  am  old;  when  long  ago 
I  came,  I  found  an  anvil  lying  here, 
And  struck  it  with  my  beak,  in  sunrise  glow, 
Now  smaller  than  a  pebble  it  doth  appear." 
The   deer   said:     "When   I   came   an   immense 

wood 
Stretched   wide   about,   and   every   year   there 

came 

An  aged  woodman ;  a  single  branch  he  would 
Cut  and  take  to  feed  his  furnace  flame; 
A  single  tree  its  withered  branch  doth  show." 
And  the  proud  eagle  said:  "Such  age  have  I 
The  lofty  hills  by  streams  I  saw  brought  low." 
"Upon  the  shore  my  waves,"  the  sea  did  cry, 
Their  minute  gifts  of  salt  so  long  have  hurled 
That  man  may  load  his  ships  for  all  the  world." 


[33] 


n 


THE  lover  cried :     "Love  in  my  heart  is  here 
So  strong,  the  owl  a  million  times  may 

strike, 

The  sea  its  salt  to  towering  cliffs  uprear, 
And  love  not  feel  the  strain  of  toil  alike ; 
The  aged  woodman  then  shall  long  have  passed, 
And  weary  years,  proud  eagle,  blanched  thy 

wing, 

And  mighty  peoples  have  forgot  their  past ; 
For   love — the    pause    a   swooning    sleep    may 

bring. 

The  races  shall  have  passed  in  war-like  streams, 
The  epochs  have  destroyed,  but  to  restore, 
The  ages  ceased  their  long  novitiate, 
The  moving  world  have  come  to  that  dim  shore 
Whose  glory  now  the  thoughtful  see  in  dreams, 
Before  my  love  shall  cede  to  Time,  or  Fate. 


[34] 


Ill 


THE  gnat  to  the  poet  spake :     "Why  boast- 
est  thou? 

Shall  thy  love  live  on  after  thou  art  gone? 
Thou   measurest   thy   life's   span   between   the 

dawn 

And  eve,  and  as  the  plant  from  seed  doth  grow. 
Where  are  the  frail  nests  when  the  tree  lies 

low? 

From  broken  lutes  where  has  the  music  flown? 
Where    is    the    fragrance    when    the    flower   is 

blown  ? 
And   where    the    songs    dead    singers    used   to 

know? 

Thy  love  is  like  thyself — a  fragile  thing. 
When  that  the  dreamers  die,  the  dreams  take 

wing! 

His  weapon  lies  by  the  fallen  warrior  brave. 
Thou  sayst  Love  shall  even  death  withstand, 
When  thine   own  life  is   fugitive   as   sand 
Obliterated  by  the  wind  and  wave. 


[35] 


IV 


AND  the  man  cried:     "This  do  I  hold  un- 
just! 

0  God-like  dreams,  is  there  no  myrrh  for  thee, 
To  keep  thee  then  forever  when  to  dust 

This  heart  of  mine  is  brought  by  Death's  de- 
cree? 

1  could  accept  the  nothingness  to  be, 

If  death,  with  my  own  ruin,  did  not  destroy 
The  lovely  image  that  so  silently 
Has  burned  within  the  depths  of  all  my  joy. 
If  all  must  perish  with  us  when  we  die, 
Why  then  this  love  that  reaches  to  the  sky? 
Who  then  has  poured  with  such  a  clumsy  hand 
A  wine  so  precious  in  a  vase  so  frail, 
And  placed  in  hearts  unstable  as  shifting  sand 
A  thought  that  dies  at  sound  of  Death's  first 
hail?" 


[36] 


THE  star  then  spoke,  "When  those  bless'd 
human  hearts 

That  on  earth  knew  love,  have  ceased  to  beat, 
Death  to  them  his  fearful  cold  imparts — 
Undaunted  yet,  their  souls  know  not  defeat; 
For  having  defied  the  days  of  endless  sorrow, 
Eternal  love  within  the  breast  of  man 
At  last  attains  its  long-awaited  morrow 
In  distant  realms  beyond  earth's  farthest  span. 
In  the  vast  concert  of  swift  moving  spheres 
They  are  the  notes  of  its  eternal  song; 
They  are  the  wistful  ray  of  light  that  peers 
From    each    star    of    that    dim    and    heavenly 

throng ; 

And  that  is  why  we  see  their  lights  so  pale, 
Like  beating  hearts  behind  a  misty  veil. 


[37] 


VI 


THEN  went  the  lover  to  the  brooding  sea, 
To  where  his  well-beloved  gaz'd  far  out 
Over  its  calm  and  dim  serenity, 
There  he  told  her  of  his  bitter  doubt, 
And  there  he  said  how  from  the  star  had  come 
Peace  to  his  soul,  how  some  day  must  unfold 
That  should  be  for  their  love  less  burdensome, 
So  for  the  distant  future  his  faith  was  bold. 
But  she,  so  wistful  in  the  evening  glow, 
Sighed  softly,  "Though  our  love  to  us  impart 
Desire  so  long  a  trial  to  undergo, 
I  know  a  pledge  more  true  and  far  above 
All  fear  that  lies  about  my  quaking  heart, 
Promise  to  love  me  as  long  as  I  shall  love." 


[38] 


SOMETIMES  thou  dost  wish  that  I  should 

^-5  depart, 

To  see  if,  like  the  workers  on  the  shore, 

I  should  see  pass,  nor  let  them  move  my  heart, 

The  ships  of  Pleasure  laden  with  rich  store. 

If,  far  from  the  smile  of  thy  dear  face, 

My  soul,  thro'  months  of  dark  despair,  should 

keep 

Its  grief,  and  in  some  sad  and  lonely  place, 
Inconsolable,  go  apart  to  weep ; 
If,  in  sorrow,  it  should  for  naught  else  pray 
But  flowers  of  far-off  hope  and  chill  dismay, 
The  pale,  wan  asphodel  and  scabious  drear; 
And  should  await  in  confidence,  nor  tire, 
That  vague  and  distant  hour  that  brings  thee 

near, 
Thou    shouldst    know,    then,    what    thou    dost 

most  desire. 


[39] 


IF  mine  was  not  the  love  that  thou  hadst 
deemed, 

If  it   failed   to   reach  the  summit   of  thy  de- 
sire, 

If  far  below  thy  dearest  wish  it  seemed, 
Nor  was  a  light  to  set  thy  days  afire; 
If,  failing  to  form  horizon  to  thy  vows, 
In  its  immense  encircling  tenderness, 
It  shows  a  single  opening  that  allows 
To  gleam  a  sky  of  fairer  loveliness ; 
Speak!  and  I  shall  put  this  song  aside 
And  shall  depart  by  paths  without  return, 
But  taking  with  me,  in  this  long  sojourn, 
The  consolation  and  the  solemn  pride 
Of  having  shown  by  this  that  my  love  here 
Was  worthy  of  the  love  that  thou  holdst  dear. 


[40] 


I    DID  not  know  thee  in  thy  tender  years, 
When  the  heart  of  youth  was  warm,  and 

thy 
Pure,  joyous  laugh  rang,  with  no  thought  of 

tears, 

Like  a  lark's  clear  song  within  a  cloudless  sky ; 
But  I  beheld  that  noble  face  of  thine, 
Grave  as  an  antique  cameo,  and  as  pure, 
With  the  soft  light  of  thoughtful  skies  ashine ; 
And  in  my  heart  this  image  shall  endure. 
To  thee  shall  come  years  where  strange  beauty 

lies, 

That  life  gives  to  those  pensive  ones  that  wear 
Dim  smiles  within  their  sad,  consoling  eyes; 
On  thy  matured  face  shall  then  repair 
The  calm  that  age  alone  may  realize, 
And,  with   thy  whitened  head,   I'll  deem  thee 

fair. 


[41] 


SOMETIMES,  when  first  I  loved  thee,  I  did 
muse: 

"If  I  should  die,  would  she  not  love  again? 
Can  a  young  bird  to  try  its  wing  refuse, 
Or  heart  of  youth  forever  be  in  chain? 
Who  then  would  blame  her,  if  some  glowing 

May 

Should  lead  her  on  to  taste  new  ecstasy, 
And  she  should  hear  its  voice,  nor  disobey?" 
I  felt  the  hint  of  fear  in  revery. 
But  now  I  fear  no  more  the  dreaded  Night: 
Thou  canst  no  longer  love  in  my  despite, 
My  patient  love  has  caught  thee  in  its  spell, 
And  for  eternity  I  conquered  thee; 
For  in  thy  blood  and  brain  and  heart  I  dwell, 
To  keep  thee  safe  from  other  mastery. 


[42] 


LOVE  has  led  us  to  the  open  shore 
Where,  between  severed  lands  the  waters 

flow. 

A  land  of  trial  ours,  with  naught  in  store 
Of  beautiful,  and  where  no  flowers  grow 
Save  evil  thistles  choked  in  the  sands  below, 
And  the  tall  willows  trailing  sadly  o'er. 
The  land  of  Joy,  with  golden  fruits  aglow 
Where  fruits  and  flowers  blossom  evermore 
Burns  on  our  vision  like  a  distant  fire, 
And  to  us  on  the  wind  its  perfumes  come. 
But  on  the  rocks  our  lives  are  captive,  dumb; 
And  to  the  day  of  death  we  seek,  and  tire 
In  seeking  sadly,  hopelessly,  for  some 
Deep-hidden  way  to  the  land  of  Heart's  desire. 


[43] 


BY  THE  BLUE  WATERS 


A  LITTLE  bay  where  waves  of  softest  blue 
Stretch  far  upon  the  sands  their  fringe 

of  white, 

And  somber  rocks  of  warmly  reddish  hue 
Reach  out  long  arms  in  the  dull  evening  light ; 
A  narrow  street  that  can  be  dimly  seen 
Between  its  row  of  houses ;  and  down  there 
A  little  forge  that  sends  its  ruddy  sheen 
Far  out  upon  the  dim  and  tranquil  air; 
Some  boats  that  on  their  homeward  courses  lie, 
With  their  pure  white  or  saffron-tinted  sails; 
A  sailor  rowing  wearily  close  by, 
A  warship  steaming  there  far  out  at  sea, 
An  island  that  is  wreathed  in  purple  veils ; 
Such  is   the  scene  where  my  heart  pines  for 
thee. 


[47] 


AND  now  the  misty  sea  has  lost  the  sun, 
Yet  all  the  capes  seem  still  to  catch  its 

glow, 
As  they  stretch  forward  'cross  the  tide — but 

slow 

Their  profiles  now  are  fading,  one  by  one; 
The  rocky  island  where  dun  shadows  creep 
Is  glowing  at  its  top  with  purple  light; 
And  there,  far  out,  two  lonely  sails  of  white 
Are  standing  motionless ;  while  gentle  sleep 
So  stealthily  in  the  dark  air  doth  spread; 
And  fishermen  row  for  the  sheltered  bay, 
Where  yet  a  window  here  and  there  burns  red; 
And  you  and  I  turn  homeward  silently, 
With  grieving  hearts  to  see  this  lovely  day 
Slowly  expire  upon  the  listless  sea. 


[48] 


BEYOND  the  dunes,  an  orange  colored  glow 
Lights  up  the  sky  that  still  is  clear  and 

pure; 

But,  toward  the  east,  a  twilight  dim  and  slow, 
Combines  the  rocks,  the  desert  sands  obscure, 
The  mighty  dome  of  heaven,  the  sea's  wide 

plane, 

Together  in  a  strange,  sublime  accord, 
A  mystic  harmony  where  now  remain 
All  that  day  may  claim  and  still  belord. 
Above  the  line  of  earth  and  sky  appears 
The  silver  moon,  with  palest  tint  of  rose ; 
Her  shimmering  beams  upon  the  waves  repose, 
Above,  in  the  fast  darkening  sky,  her  sphere's 
Light  has  turned  to  gold ;  o'er  all  does  creep 
A  solemn  quiet  that  seems  eternal  sleep. 


[49] 


HOW  fair  this  land  is,  bathed  in  warm  sun- 
showers, 

With  its  rich  light  triumphantly  aglow 
From  the  clear  silver  of  dawn's  earliest  hours 
Till  eve  so  swiftly  into  night  does  flow. 
And  yet  my  grieving  heart,  so  wistfully, 
Regrets  and  sighs  for  that  dim  duskiness 
Where  slowly  day  sinks  down  the  paling  sky, 
Like  a  faint  hope  that  dies  of  weariness. 
And  oh,  the  sadness  of  our  plains'  expanse! 
When  soft  gray  mists  twine  in  among  the  trees, 
And  the  dun  light's  uncertain  radiance 
Glows  o'er  the  marshes'  hidden  mysteries, 
And  distantly  beyond  the  roof's  low  edge 
The  moon's  thin  crescent  lifts  above  the  hedge. 


[50] 


HHHE  old  deserted  garden  was  thick-strewn 
A       With  red-gold  oranges  and  olives  brown, 
Citrons,  and  figs ;  one  heard  the  ceaseless  tune 
Of  shady  waters  and  the  dropping  down 
Of  some  ripe  fruit,  each  moment ;  like  a  fire 
Among  dark  leaves  the  pomegranates  flamed; 
The  crawling  grape  vines   pushed   themselves 

entire 

Through  open  crevices  where  red  walls  framed 
Warm,  odorous  clusters  of  a  purple-blue, 
Heavy  and  thick  as  though  the  ripe  fruit  drew 
A  velvet  curtain  o'er  its  own  rich  hoards ; 
In  every  hollow  of  the  wall,  turned  towards 
The  piercing  sunlight,  the  wild  aloe  grew 
Whose  long  sharp  branches  cut  the  blue  like 

swords. 


[51] 


II 


WE  stayed  here,  resting  in  the  silence  deep, 
In  this  dark  recess  curtained  with  the 

light; 

Above,  a  single  cloud  seemed  slow  to  creep 
In  skies  the  emptier  for  its  patch  of  white; 
The  mountains  shimmered,  tender,  blue,  asleep, 
Clasping  the  fields  about,  while  far  and  bright 
The  river  wound,  with  many  a  curve  and  sweep, 
In  sumptuous  folds,  red-gold  and  silver-white. 
The  breeze  died  out ;  each  moment,  through  the 

sound 

Of  waterfalls,  fell  softly  to  the  ground 
Some  heavy,  ripened  fruit  in  shady  spot — 
Suddenly,  as  a  secret  thought  was  born, 
She  asked  me  why  this  house  and  garden  plot 
So  long  had  been  deserted  and  forlorn. 


[52] 


Ill 


T   TOLD  her  then  the  story  I  had  heard: 
•*•        How  long  ago  two  lovers  sought  to  share 
Their  sorrows  in  forbidden  love,  and  spurr'd 
To  the  supremest  wisdom  by  despair, 
Had  come  to  this  old  garden,  here  to  pluck 
The  sweet,  late-blossomed  flower  of  happiness 
That  wither'd  not;  for  from  themselves  they 

struck 
The   chains   of  life,   that   death   might   crown 

and  bless 

Their  ecstasy;  refusing,  thus,  to  face 
A  doom  like  ours  they  died  in  close  embrace. 
— But  she,  rising  and  shaking  like  a  leaf, 
Touching  my  lips,  her  manner  darkly  changed, 
Whispered  "Hush"  in  a  voice  that  choked  with 

grief, 
And  stayed  thus,  silent,  bitter,  and  estranged. 


[53] 


IN  THE  HILLS 


IN  the  dim,  age-old  woods  of  beech  and  pine 
That  clothe  the  sides  and  summit  of  the  hill 
The  gray  beech  trees  endure  the  months  that 

still 

Bring  seasons  in  their  wearisome  design. 
When  on  the  hills,  the  Spring  blows  sweet  and 

keen 
Their    gnarled   boughs    are    green;    by    winds 

bereft 

Of  their  red  leaves  in  Autumn  they  are  left 
Like  ancient  priests,  their  feet  incarnadine. 
Only  the  stately  pines  are  not  made  glad 
By  Spring,  they  keep  their  state,  somber  and 

sure, 

When  snow-drifts  all  the  forest  paths  obscure. 
In  the  forest  of  my  love  sometimes  are  clad 
With  green  my  hopes — But  darkening  and  sad 
The  deeper  woods  abide  and  shall  endure. 


[57] 


HOW  pale  thou  art:  what  sadness  in  thine 
eyes! 

Such  long  sojourn  within  the  city  wall, 
'Neath  heavy  skies  that  seem  too  loth  to  rise 
From  the  belfry  towers,  swept  by  its  leaden 

pall; 

Days  with  sorrow  hounding  on  their  rear 
Have  bowed  thy  face,  so  dear  to  me,  so  pure, 
On   to   thy  hand   grown   thin   and  white   and 

clear ; 

Thy  weary  eyes  show  what  thou  dost  endure. 
Come  to  the  highlands  and  the  supernal  snow ! 
Come  up  where  heaven  is  high  and  where  the 

wind 

Over  the  fields  of  eternal  ice  does  blow 
And  riot,  with  healing  breath,  undisciplined; 
Come,  sweep  away  that  load  of  all  thine  ills 
In  the  friendly  heart  of  the  majestic  hills! 


[58] 


AND  we  who  but  to  life's  swift  hour  attain, 
O  love,  whose  eyes  are  clear  with  light 

divine, 

Let  us  love  now — the  nearest  hopes  are  vain — 
And  with  forgetfulness  the  hour  combine. 
Hark!     Dost  thou  hear  that  stone  roll  down 

the  pass? 

Hasten !  that  our  souls  before  they  die 
At    least    once    reach    the    topmost    snow-clad 

mass, 

Which  rays  of  heavenly  light  now  glorify ! 
We  are  like  thistle-down  by  winds  outspun, 
Like  snow-flakes,  when  a  ray  of  mid-day  sun 
Strikes  us,  and  we  are  brought  to  nothingness ; 
We  have  but  an  instant  on  the  height  to  be, 
Before  we  fall,  and  all  that  we  possess, 
A  perfect  moment's  swift  eternity. 


[59] 


COME,  let  us  on  and  journey  through  the 
night ! 

Up  through  dim  forests  of  never-fading  pine, 
Across  the  somber  heath  that  flanks  the  height 
Up  to  the  lofty  peak's  most  steep  incline. 
Mount  higher!  through  the   rocky  wilderness, 
O'er  the  sleeping  fields  of  glacier  ice  and  snow, 
To  conquer  the  last  summit's  awfulness 
Before  the  dawn's  first  red  begins  to  glow. 
When,  as  soft  veiling  clouds  are  fast  retreat- 
ing. 

The  earth  appears  in  its  fresh  purity 
I  wish,  as  dawn  sends  forth  its  joyous  greet- 
ing, 

To  kiss  thy  lips  in  deep  humility, 
Where  light-touched   mists   in   silvery   beauty 

lie 

On  those  proud  summits  leaping  toward  the 
sky! 


[60] 


OH,  the  sweet  loveliness  of  this  lost  vale! 
The  days  have  passed  like  threads   of 

finest  gold 
Drawn  from  Time's  distaff;  as  the  eyes  must 

fail 

Beholding  skies  too  fiercely  bright,  so  fold 
Our  spirits  under  joys  we  would  unveil. 
We  had  forgotten  that  bleak  life  of  old, 
And  so  the  awakening  made  our  glad  hearts 

quail 

When  first  a  crimson  oak  the  end  foretold. 
We  drew  near  home  one  evening  and  thy  cry; 
"The  oak-leaves,  see!"  made  clear  the  thought 

that  fills 

Our  eyes  with  tears.     Then  in  the  golden  eve, 
We  took  the  red  leaves,  sadly,  silently, 
That  told  the  end ;  and  as  one  loth  to  leave 
The  sun  died  slowly  from  the  distant  hills. 


[61] 


WHEN   our  last   day   together   came,   we 
dined 

At  the  quaint  Inn  whose  terrace  by  the  lake 
Hears  only  breaking  waves  and  murmuring 

wind 

Droning  the  wash  of  pebbles  in  their  wake. 
Heavy  and  overblown  the  sunflowers  pined 
And  wither'd  on  the  stalk;  as  though  to  make 
A  shelter  for  the  arbor,  wild  grapes  twined 
Shading  us   from  the  swollen,  crimson  sun, 
The  brazen  sky  and  land;  while  one  by  one, 
Beyond  the  hills,  marshalled  the  clouds  apace. 
But  we  talked  on  of  love  and  how  love  cleaves 
To  life;   sighs  broke  our  speech,  and  all  the 

place 
Wherein  we  sat  was  strewn  with  wither'd  leaves. 


[62] 


THE  QUARREL 


MY    words  have    wounded    you,    full    well 
I've  known, 

Words    of   cruel    passion,   hateful,   bleak, 
Uttered  by  lips  for  so  long  seal'd  thine  own, 
Words  that  I'd  give  my  heart's  blood  to  un- 

speak. 

You  stood  amazed,  and  then  your  sole  reply 
Was  one  quick  flash  of  anger  that  gave  way 
To  sorrow;  quickly,  with  a  broken  sigh, 
You  turned  and  left  me  there  in  chill  dismay. 
On  the  day  marked  for  us  to  meet  anew 
I  came ;  no  hope  within  me  dar'd  arise 
To  find  you  in  the  leafy  avenue. 
But,  clothed  in  sunlight  that  in  summer  skies 
Had  pierced  the  gathering  clouds   of  somber 

hue, 
You  waited  there  with  pardon  in  your  eyes. 


[65] 


STRANGE  mottled  sky  of  palest  green  and 
black, 

Thy  changing  mystery  of  evening  light 
Is  like  my  heart,  too  feeble  to  attack 
And  dispel  my   sorrow's   threatening  night. 
Between  long  curtains  of  the  silent  eve 
Thy  light  gleams  like  the  dim-illumined  door 
Of  some  dark  mansion  waiting  to  receive 
Heart-weary   travelers    from   a   distant   shore. 
0  brooding  sky,  grieving  like  my  heart, 
What   will   night   bring  thee   for   to-morrow's 

morn, 

The  golden  ray?  or  that  where  sorrow  is  born? 
O  yearning  soul,  like  the  lights  that  impart, 
To  this  tender  heaven  their  wistful  grace 
What  will  the  dawn  bring  for  thy  sad  embrace  ? 


[66] 


DOST  thou  recall,  0  thou  who  wert  mine  own, 
The  Iktle  cottage  hid  beneath  tall  elms, 
From  where  we  saw  the  dim  church  spires  alone 
Of  hamlets  that  the  billowing  plain  o'erwhelms  ? 
And  sometimes  dost  thou  see  the  garden  close, 
With   its   trellised  honeysuckle  vine, 
Where,  each  eve,  as  nature  sought  repose, 
We  watched  the  light  from  swarthy  skies  de- 
cline? 

Dost  thou  recall,  beneath  these  flowering  eaves, 
Those  whispered  thoughts  of  ours,  that  tender 

pledge, 

That  long  embrace,  to  dreaming  revery  lulled, 
As  the  moon  above  the  low,  encircling  hedge 
Showed  her  face  of  gold  through  dusky  leaves? 
Those    far-off    days    my    yearning    heart    has 
culled ! 


[67] 


SOMETIMES  my  work,  in  study's  silentness, 
In  which  I  sought  forgetfulness  of  pain, 
Lifts  me,  from  out  my  dark  uneasiness, 
Up  to  the  ice-capped  summit  of  Disdain. 
In  gazing  from  this  lofty  solitude, 
My  passions  far  below  I  seem  to  see, 
And  think  to  freely  live  with  force  renewed, 
On  this  airy  peak  of  crystal  purity. 
But,  as  a  climber,  standing  by  the  height 
Whose    sides    rise    glittering    from    the    dark 

ravine, 

Is   dizzy  from   the   play   of  shimmering  light, 
So,  on  my  highland,  glacial  and  serene, 
My  soul  is  faint  with  yearning  to  depart, 
And  feel  the  nearness  of  a  human  heart. 


[68] 


AT  the  poignant  hour  of  twilight,  in  the 
gray 

Of  eve,  when  homing  flocks  of  curlews  strew 
The  sky,  and  pools  a  clear  expanse  display, 
Pensive,  I  draw  the  window  curtain  to. 
Night  fills  the  room;  a  gleam  of  ruddy  hue 
Flickers  on  polished  wood,  and  firelight  play 
Of  fitful  light  throws  into  shadowy  view 
Thine  armchair,  standing  empty  all  the  day ; 
I  gaze  in  darkness  round  me  and  before, 
Striving  to  see,  yet  failing  to  discern 
The   shadowy  walls  and  curtains ;  but  again, 
And  wistfully  again  my  dim  eyes  yearn 
To  thine  accustomed  empty  chair — I  fain 
Would  see  thee  where  I  shall  not  see  thee  more. 


[69] 


I   HIDE  my  sorrow  from  my  dearest  friend, 
Sorrow  for  the  love  that  was  so  fair, 
And  that  it  is  my  boast  I  still  pretend, 
Nor  say:     "A  reed,  it  broke  in  the  ruthless 

air." 

When  I  see  him  come,  his  greeting  I  evade, 
And  when  he  speaks  of  thee,  my  vague  reply 
He  takes  for  love,  abashed,  yet  unafraid. 
My  soul  is  weak  with  striving  to  supply 
My  mind  with  wit  to  defer  the  fated  day 
When  he  must  know  the  truth ;  of  thee  I  speak 
In  happy  tones  that  sobs  would  fain  betray; 
I  fear  to  tell  him  of  our  fate  so  bleak, 
Of  my  ruined  heart  so  taken  by  surprise ; 
I  fear  to  see  the  pity  in  his  eyes ! 


[70] 


TO  her  low  questions  she  asked  a  reply, 
With  grieving  hint  of  her  most  secret 

fears ; 

I  heard  within  her  voice  a  muffled  sigh, 
And   saw   her   dear   eyes   bright   with   wistful 

tears. 

I  spoke  then ;  that  she  still  had  naught  to  dread, 
How  she  had  heard  a  whispered  word  of  hate, 
And  taken  for  the  truth  the  lies  that  spread, 
As  echoes  in  the  hills  reverberate; 
I  spoke  of  faith  that  still  abides  with  us, 
Of  weariness  the  wasted  months  bestow, 
That  she  alone  was  my  felicity, 
That  'tis  insane  to  think  a  shadow  thus, 
In  sweeping  by  our  love,  could  wound  it  so ; 
And  something  in  her  soul,  too,  spoke  for  me. 


[71] 


BUT  she  had  come  with  pitiless  decree, 
That  love  itself  must  cease  this  very  hour, 
Within  her  anguished  eyes  I  seemed  to  see 
A  will  that  drew  from  love  its  new-found  power. 
Down  in  her  quiet  heart  there  seemed  to  be 
No  light  of  hope  that  pity  might  disclose, 
As  though  from  out  her  soul's  profundity 
To  her  dear  lips  the  hated  word  arose. 
Then  blank  despair  took  hold  upon  my  heart, 
I  saw  indeed  that  all  must  come  to  naught, 
Even  our  shattered  hopes,  the  noble  grace 
Of  love  that  can  but  deathless  pain  impart ; 
Again  her  hands  in  last  farewell  I  sought, 
And  we  were  clasped  in  silent,  long  embrace. 


[7*] 


O   MOMENTS  deep  with  the  infinity 
Of   God-like   joy   that   seems   thus   to 

arise, 

When  I  hold  thee  close  in  my  arms  and  see 
The  light  of  love  again  within  thine  eyes ! 
For  her  dear  eyes,  so  sad  with  sudden  grief, 
Had  kept  their  tears,  and,  taken  by  surprise, 
Could  not  conceal  their  joy  at  this  relief, 
And  her  voice  died  in  long,  quiescent  sighs. 
We  stood,  in  silence,  near  the  willow  tree, 
Whose  kindly  shade  our  hearts  have  known  so 

well, 
And  on  her  forehead,  pale  and  wrought  with 

pain, 

That  seemed  to  trust  my  manhood  pleadingly, 
My  lips,  still  trembling  with  the  sad  farewell, 
Placed  the  long  kiss  that  brought  us  peace 

again. 


[73] 


REVERIES 


FROM  the  first  trembling,  hesitating  word 
Of  a  lover's  shrinking  modesty, 
To  those  unbridled  ones  that  Beauty  stirred 
Within  the  last,  fierce-burning  ecstasy, 
From  doubt  to  pardon  that  o'erwhelms  all  fear, 
The  language  that  Love  bears  is  infinite; 
And  more  than  man  must  he  be  who  could  hear, 
And  paint  in  words  the  myriad  forms  of  it. 
No  poet  yet  has  all  its  might  possessed, 
Tender  and  sad,  bitter-sweet,  distressed, 
From    the    soft-breathed    vows    that    seem    to 

blend 

Eternity  with  words   of  briefest  fire, 
From  the  low  sigh  of  newly  born  desire, 
To  the  deep  cry  wherein  all  love  must  end. 


[77] 


WHERE  do  they  go  who  march  in  tears  de- 
spairing? 

Those  with  clenched  fists  and  hoarsely  sobbing 
breath? 

Those,  with  hands  joined  on  high,  where  are 
they  faring? 

And  those,  with  wounded  sides,  as  pale  as  death? 

Those  with  radiant  smiles  despite  their  sighs? 

They  who  dance  in  time  to  cymbal's  beat? 

And  those  with  song  and  laughter  in  their 
eyes, 

Smelling  the  flowers  they  strew  about  their 
feet? 

Their  shifting  column  moves   without   respite, 

The  tortured  now  are  seized  with  swift  de- 
light, 

The  joyous  for  their  smiles  must  soon  atone. 

Where  do  they  go?     To  carry  all  the  tears, 

Of  passion's  torments,  ecstasies  and  fears, 

Upward,  to  mighty  Love's  eternal  throne! 


[78] 


^  I  ^  HIS  little  silver  lamp  whose   flame  hath 
•••     known 

Our  swift  ecstatic  hours,  oh  place  it  close 
Beside  thee  there,  where  thou  shalt  lie  alone, 
Within  the  tomb,  sweet  perishable  rose! 
Across  the  twisted  iron  bars  that  spell 
Thy  name  in  scrolls,  shall  linger  its  dim  light 
In  quietness ;  and  that  it  may  burn  well 
Let  oil  replenish  it  by  day  and  night. 
Then,  when  Creation's  veil  of  years  is  rent 
And  thy  long  sleep  is  shatter'd,  and  thou  hast 
Wide,  eager  eyes  unclosed,  as  in  the  past 
The  lamp  shall  speak  to  thee  of  passion  blent 
With  peace,  and  thou  shalt  lean  to  me  at  last, 
And  for  my  kiss  thy  heart  shall  wait,  content. 


[79] 


THE  early  loves  are  naught  but  fitful  gleams 
Of  mirrored  fire,  the  momentary  glow 
Of  an  unformed,  imperfect  heart  that  dreams 
Confusedly  as  yet;  nor  can  it  know 
That  supreme,  eternal  love  that  fires 
Those  hearts  that  rise,  in  long  unequal  strife, 
Above  defeated  hopes  and  mute  desires 
That  stamped  on  them  the  cruel  design  of  life. 
No  love  is  real  but  of  achieved  souls, 
In  whom  the  might  of  destiny  unrolls 
The  stronger  faith  of  their  maturity, 
Whereby    from    careless    youth    at    last    they 

gain 

A  love  of  grave  and  tender  surety, 
And  force  to  love  that  has  won  strength  from 

pain. 


[80] 


BEFORE  THE  GRAY  WATERS 


HOW   soft   the  brooding  sea  appears   to- 
night ! 

The  whole  day  long  its  misty,  grayish  shield 
Has  caught  the  sudden  shafts  of  golden  light 
That  skies  of  veined  pearl  seemed  loth  to 

yield ; 

Then  suddenly  these  skies  were  rent  anew, 
And  the  dim,  pensive  sea,  so  sad  and  gray 
Took  on  a  light  of  softly  purple  hue 
That  o'er  all  with  caressing  touch  did  lay ; 
Beyond  the  sun,  there  in  that  glorious  land 
A  mighty  feast  it  seems  they  now  command, 
From  which  a  ray  of  such  soft  flame  does  leap 
To   strew  with  roses  the  high-towering  crest 
Of  every  cloud  that  floats  in  luminous  sleep; 
Ah,  if  with  such  calm  days  our  life  were  blest ! 


AND  still  thine  eyes  are  wet  with  shining 
tears, 

Eyes  of  a  dreamer,  eyes  that  are  my  dream: 
Alas,   my  well-beloved,   the  fiery   gleam 
Of   the   armed   angel's   sword   thy   tired   heart 

sears ! 

He  watches,  and  forbids  us  through  the  years 
The  Garden  of  Joy;  if  he  should  ever  deem 
Us  worthy,  O  wistful  Eve,  how  will  it  seem 
To  wander  there  marked  deep  with  the  mark 

of   tears! 

Shivering  elms  and  willows  make  a  sighing 
Of  shadowy  leaves,  now  rising  and  now  dying, 
By  the  complaining  winds  so  stripped  and  torn ; 
Beloved,   they   are   the  nests    of  love   forlorn! 
Then  wherefore  wouldst  thou,  dear,  give  over 

crying? 
Can  love  be  where  no  marks  of  tears  are  born? 


[84] 


CLOSE  up  the  book  for  we  have  read  too 
long — 

Our  hearts  are  brimming  with  its  beauty,  dear, 
Its  consecration  of  a  love.     Forbear, 
Lest  tortur'd  heart-strings  break  beneath  the 

song. 

The  sounds  of  such  sweet  verses  well  belong 
To  such  an  evening,  wistful,  wide  and  clear — 
Like  bitter  myrrh  upon  the  flames  that  sear 
Our  breasts,  smoulders  the  beauty  of  this  song. 
Come!  let  us  go  and  see  the  sun  sink  low, 
Proudly  veiling  himself  in  mist,  as  might 
Some  noble,  stricken  warrior.     Even  so 
Our  proud  hearts  bleed  to  death,  my  love;  ere 

night 

Shall  close  about  us,  come  into  the  glow, 
Come  out  into  the  velvet  evening  light. 


[85] 


SOMETIMES  of  life's  captivity  we  tire, 
The  load  of  duty,  law's  severity, 
When  airy  chains  encircle  our  desire, 
And  love  awaits  the  word  to  set  it  free ; 
As  captives  let  their  dearest  wishes  range 
Far  from  the  walls  whereto  their  bodies  cleave, 
We  follow — when  no  breeze  is  there  to  change 
The  limpid  beauty  of  the  God-sent  eve — 
We  follow  silently  the  lonely  shore 
And   give    ourselves    to    thoughtful    dreaming1 

o'er, 

A  reverie  of  being  that  empowers 
Our  souls  to  wing  in  freedom,  in  nuptial  flight, 
To  gardens  where  grow  plants  of  pensive 

light, 
When    heaven    puts    its    night    of    clust'ring 

flowers. 


[86] 


AND  we  were  seated  on  the  old  stone  pier, 
In  silence:     I  felt  the  pressure  of  your 

hand; 

The  dusk  was  falling,  and  we  sought  to  hear 
The  sea's  complaining  on  the  dim-lit  strand: 
"The  waves  are  sobbing  out  their  dull  despair 
To  the  rocks,  as  the  tide  draws  them  far  away, 
They   have  lost   them  now  forever,   the  flood 

shall  bear 

Other  waves  on-climbing  in  new  array: 
See  how  they  draw  from  off  the  long'd-f or  reef : 
Hear  the  human  torment  in  their  cry, 
The  last  adieu  of  their  low-murmuring  grief!" 
I  felt  the  trembling  of  your  hand  reply, 
Your  face  I  lifted  to  the  light  above, 
And  saw  you  weeping  too,  O  wistful  love. 


87 


WHEN,  after  long  and  weary  months 
apart, 

We  two  for  one  short  hour  again  shall  meet, 
In  desolate  autumn  forests,  heart  to  heart, 
Or  on  deserted  windy  shores,  in  sweet 
Renewal  of  our  vows,  you  ask,  Sweetheart, 
That  while  I  seize  upon  the  instants  fleet 
And  fair  as  flowers  that  flowerlike  must  depart 
When  Time  decrees,  you  ask  that  I  repeat 
In  that  one  perfect  hour  how  I  have  lived, 
And  in  what  hope,  after  what  goal  I  strived, 
What  labor  have  accomplished  or  what  prize. 
Oh,  what  avail  my  life  so  marr'd,  amiss? 
What  would'st  thou  have  me  see  beyond  thine 

eyes, 
Or  utter  with  these  lips  that  thirst  to  kiss? 


[88] 


OUR  love  has  known  so  much  of  sacrifice, 
So  many  of  its  fondest  hopes  resigned, 
Far  back  has  left  the  stately  edifice 
Builded  of  its  dreams,  when  fate  was  kind ; 
So  many  dawns  has  seen  with  hope  anew, 
So  many  days  to  nights  of  sadness  wane, 
So  much  of  grief  has  seen  its  joys  renew, 
So  much  has  strived,  so  much  desired  in  vain; 
And  now  before  it  lies  such  desert  land 
Of  barren  rock  and  gloomy,  sunless  shore, 
Where    aught    of    joy    or    love's    delight    is 

bann'd, 

That  if,  from  the  dark  cloud  that  glowers  near, 
A  voice   should  cry:     "Your  bliss  is  here  no 


more! 


i" 


We  should  but  shrink  in  long-awaited  fear. 


[89] 


WE    followed    the    gray    waters,    wistful 
friend, 
The  long  gray  waves,  whose  murmurs  grew  less 

loud 

As  the  sea  sank  to  sleep  at  day's  sad  end ; 
The  golden  yellow  sun  athwart  a  cloud, 
Glanced  on  the  shadowy  surface  of  the  bay, 
Touching  the  topmost  naked  cliff  above; 
We  followed  the  gray  water's  gentle  way, 
The    slow   and    plaintive   waves,    O    sorrowful 

love. 
Then   passed   a   sweetness    from   thy    soul    to 

mine, 

Thy  soul  where  joy  yet  has  an  air  of  sorrow, 
Thy  soul  that  suffers,  yet  does  not  repine 
Because  Hope  keeps  no  promise  of  the  mor- 
row, 

Thy  soul  resigned  to  its  own  noble  sorrow, 
Of  which  this  golden  eve  is  the  ensign. 


[90 


AGAINST  the  dense  black  of  the  stormy 
sky 

A  white-winged  petrel  swept  in  circles  swift 
And  wild,  as  though  it  madly  sought  a  rift 
In  the  enclosing  darkness ;  Winds,  near  by, 
And  far  away,  with  many  voices  pled, 
In  long,  lamenting  cries,  now  shrill,  now  low — 
The  ghostly  voice  of  unremembered  woe, 
The  moaning  wail  of  the  unburied  dead. 
The  reeds  were  shivering  in  the  fog  that  lay 
Over  the  land  and  sea,  while,  pitiless 
And  fierce,   the   wind   shattered  the   waves   to 

spray. 

Beneath  this  iron  sky,  no  hope  could  last 
Within  our  hearts — only  the  bitterness 
Of  our  own  kisses,  whipped  by  winter's  blast. 


[91] 


THE  SACRIFICE 


IF  but  our  hearts  obeyed  a  selfish  lore, 
Together  we  should  flee,  and  hide  our  love 
'Mong  girdling  hills,  or  on  some  sun-lit  shore 
Whose  waves  reflect  the  kindly  skies  above ; 
And  we,  thus  lost  in  some  old  town  that  stands 
Beside  a  lake  where  quiet  beauty  lies, 
Or  in  some  hamlet  flanked  by  shining  sands, 
Would  turn  our  exile  into  paradise. 
And  there,  forgetful  of  our  anxious  past, 
I'd  see  thee  mine,  to  cherish  and  adore, 
I'd  see  thy  happy,  wistful  eyes  impart 
A  love  still  deeper  than  the  grief  we  bore, 
And,  like  a  desert  wand'rer,  quench,  at  last, 
The   thirst   for   thee   that   burns    my   wearied 
heart. 


[95] 


II 


I    DARE  not  tell  thee  of  my  new-born  dream, 
Lest  my  indignant  heart  dash  it  to  death 
Against  the  stones  of  shame,  so  it  blaspheme 
No   more  the   spirit   of  love   with  love's   own 

breath. 

How  can  I  ask  of  thee  what  blemisheth 
Our  love  in  yielding,  since  love  doth  redeem 
Us  from  our  former  selves  and  severeth 
Our  souls  from  evil  that  the  flesh  would  scheme? 
How  can  I  ask  that  thou  forget,  indeed, 
The   house   wherein   thy   children's    lives    shall 

bloom, 

Wistful  for  mother-love,  nor  intercede 
For  thee,  but  judging  thee  to  shame  and  doom 
Cover  thy  face  and  leave  thee,  in  a  tomb 
Of  silence,  burying  thy  name  and  deed. 


[96] 


Ill 


AND  if  in  a  rash  hour  I  spoke  to  thee, 
To  thee,  who  hast  so  long  and  nobly  tried 
To  keep  the  law  of  thy  maternity — 
To    win    more    love    that    thou    mayst    better 

guide — 

Who,  by  the  magic  of  thy  smile,  dost  gain 
Their  youthful  hearts  to  lead  with  brooding 

care 
Toward  that  protecting  love  that  thou  dost 

bear 

To  every  creature  suffering  unjust  pain; 
Thou  who,  in  their  young  life,  the  dawning  of 
Their  souls,  dost  sow  the  seeds  of  loveliness 
That  will  repay  the  gift  with  greater  love; 
If,  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness, 
I  dared  to  show  thine  own  fate's  enmity, 
With  what  reproach  thy  gaze  was  fixed  on  me! 


[97] 


IV 


I    SEE  by  thy  wan  face,  thou  see'st  by  mine, 
That  both  know  well  the  law  that  holds  us 

fast, 

Revealed  now  when  the  dear  hope  is  past 
That  my  life  might,  one  day,  unite  with  thine. 
We  must  submit — with  courage  of  despair — 
This  pride  of  ours,  oh  may  it  now  uphold 
Our  hearts,  in  this  last  weary  fight  to  bear 
The  anguish  added  to  our  grief  of  old! 
This  love  of  ours,  that  lived  so  valiantly, 
And  triumphantly  with  its  desire  did  cope, 
Convinced  by   this  'swift   grief  that   it   must 

give 

Its  life  that  it  may  find  eternity, 
Under  the  wreckage  of  its  cherished  hope, 
Shall  die  as  nobly  as  it  once  did  live. 


[98] 


OTHOU  beloved,  goal  of  my  desire 
By   that   star  trembling   in   the   skies 

that  fade, 
By  these  long  waves  flushed  with  the  day's  last 

fire, 

I  say,  thy  duty  thou  canst  not  evade. 
Deep  in   our   shrinking  hearts   we  both  know, 

well 

That  naught  can  give  us  power  to  repeal 
The  harsh  decree  we  can  no  more  conceal, 
That  we  must  part  in  endless,  sad  farewell. 
Alas,  forgive  me  that  I  breathed  aloud 
This  word  that  seems  to  wither  and  lay  waste, 
As  with  a  glowing  brand,  our  menaced  love! 
It  was  to  spare  thy  lips,  so  pure,  so  proud, 
That  I  forced  mine  to  be  the  first  to  taste 
This  bitter  chalice,  God-sent  from  above. 


[99] 


VI 


COME,  put  thine  arms  about  my  neck  and 
bend 

Thy  head  upon  my  shoulder,  unafraid; 
Dost  thou  recall,  when  love  we  thought  must 

end, 

How  thus  we  stood  within  the  willow's  shade? 
But  then  it  was,  beneath  the  breaking  light, 
The  kiss  of  love  for  promised  paradise ; 
This  eve  it  is,  before  a  dawnless  night, 
The  kiss  of  love  for  love's  own  sacrifice. 
I  see  no  term  to  this  long  trial  of  ours. 
It  is  itself  the  reason  that  empowers 
This  love  to  live  upon  its  own  mishap 
And  of  it  make  a  crown  to  glorify ; 
It  cannot  pass  till  love  itself  does  snap, 
And  both  of  us  know  well  this  shall  not  die. 


[100] 


WE  are  here,  we  two,  in  the  empty  church, 
alone ; 

Like  thieves  we  slipped  in,  quietly,  unseen, 
Past  the  dim  portal,  over  floors  of  stone 
Where  sleeps  the  sunlight  mellow  and  serene. 
It  is  thy  wish  to  make  a  sacrifice, 
To  yield  thy  fragrant  heart,  broken  by  years, 
Even  as  the  Magdalen  laid  her  precious  spice 
In  fragments  at  His  feet,  mixed  with  her  tears. 
Let  it  be  as  thou  wilt,  dear  love.     Yet  stay — 
Before  thou  stand  to  make  this  holocaust 
Of  living  miseries,  cast  thou  away 
All  that  is  left  to  love,  nor  heed  the  cost; 
Drop  in  the  humble  poor-box  all  that's  thine 
Of  joy,  the  golden  ring  that  marks  thee  mine. 


II 


ON  the  altar  where  our  hopes,  new-blown 
and  sweet, 

Were  laid,  the  bread  and  wine  of  our  despair 
Must  be  set  forth.     Here,  at  the  end,  we  meet 
To  consecrate  with  ritual  and  with  prayer 
Renunciation.     Let  one  chalice  bear 
The   blood   of   our   two   hearts,    and    for   the 

wheat, 

Tears  and  unleaven'd  hopelessness  we  share 
In  holy,  still  communion,  bitter-sweet. 
Before  the  crucifix  of  Christ  whose  face 
Is  starlike  in  the  gloom  as  in  the  Vast 
Of  endless  death,  we  shall  no  longer  kneel, 
But  cling  to  one  another  in  a  last, 
Insatiate,  heart-wrung,  agonized  embrace, 
Set  on  Renunciation  as  a  seal. 


[102] 


Ill 


BY   our   first   glance   beneath  the   chestnut 
tree, 
Bj   those   first   vows   my   trembling   heart   yet 

feels, 

By  that  first  kiss,  and  these  that  now  must  see, 
How  death  upon  our  love  resistless  steals; 
By  the  dark  forest  paths,  the  hills,  the  bays 
Whose  shining  sands  were  witness  of  our  joy, 
By  instants  swift  and  long,  familiar  days 
That  gave  your  soul  to  me  without  alloy; 
By  rays  that  fall  upon  His  cross  up  there, 
This  sorrowing  God,  with  whom  your  prayers 

dwell, 

And  by  my  honor  as  a  man,  I  swear 
My  love  for  you  is  great,  and  pure,  and  true, 
And  deep  as  is  our  woe  at  this  farewell — 
'Tis  love  alone  that  makes  me  part  from  you. 


[  103  ] 


IV 


PERHAPS  it  is  decreed  that  nevermore 
May  I  look  on  you,  O  beloved  eyes ; 
Through  the  long  weeks,  the  months,  the  years 

there  lies 

A  bitterness,  O  eyes  that  I  adore. 
How  many  times,  since  you  revealed  her  soul, 
My  yearning  ones  have  followed  where  you  go 
Across  majestic  skies  where  white  clouds  roll, 
Or  on  the  still,  green  woodland  there  below. 
How  often  have  I  seen,  as  in  a  mist 
Of  tenderness,  your  glance  brood  over  me, 
Now  blue  as  is  the  cornflower  in  the  grass, 
Now  somber,  shadowed,  like  an  amethyst, 
As  'cross  the  depth  of  your  tranquillity 
The  thought  of  long  farewell  did  swiftly  pass. 


[104] 


A  NARROW   strip   of   sky   with   scatter'd 
stars 
Shows  through  the  closing  door — and  she  is 

gone. 

The  light  fades  from  the  pillars ;  darkness  bars 
The  aisle,  as  shadows  creep  back  one  by  one. 
That  is  the  sound  of  the  closing  door — fare- 
well! 

I  am  alone,  alone,  and  shall  be  so 
Henceforth.     Oh,  to  sleep  as  sound  and  well 
As  in  your  beds  of  clay,  ye  dead  below 
The  meadow-grass!     My  heart  sinks  down  at 

length 

In  ruin  on  itself;  what,  in  my  strength, 
A  high  Renunciation  seem'd,  is  Loss, 
Void,  unredeeming  loss !     I  leave  the  dark 
And  empty  church,  abandoned  to  the  stark 
And  tortured  form  that  hangs  upon  the  Cross. 


[105] 


VI 


O  GREAT  and  sorrowful  sea,  thy  restless 
waves 
Under     the     moistened     glance     of     millioned 

spheres 

Send  forth  low-murmur'd  sighs,  but  earth  en- 
slaves 
Thee,  as  thy  churned  spray  toward  heaven  up- 

rears ; 

O  great  and  sorrowful  sky,  thou  dost  unveil, 
Over  the  sobbing  billows'  mournful  sigh, 
The  tearful  eyes  of  thy  dark,  nightly  pale 
When  'cross  the  face  of  ocean  no  clouds  lie; 
O  ye,  who  thus  for  untold  flight  of  years 
Across  the  ether's  bitter  desolation 
Reach   forth  those   yearning  souls   of  yours, 

souls  shorn 

Of  any  hope  for  your  love's  consummation, 
It  seems,  this  eve,  that  in  my  heart  are  born 
All  of  the  sea's  low  sobs,  the  stars'  dim  tears! 


[106] 


MOURNING 


WHERE  art  thou?"  cried  she  on  a  lonely 
shore 
Where  willows  bent  their  boughs  in  mournful 

grace ; 

The  shining  tears  fell  down,  her  fingers  o'er, 
/  As  she  stood  with  hands  press'd  against  her 

face.     I 

And  he,  too,  wandering  in  a  doleful  land 
Where  the  long  reeds  are  sighing  on  his  path, 
And    sobbing    waves    reach    forward    to    the 

strand, 
Cries,  "Where  art  thou?"  and  wrings  his  hands 

in  wrath. 

The   lingering   echoes    of   their   searching   cry 
Meet  in  the  air,  and  mingle  but  to  die 
In  a  long  plaintive  murmur,  sadly  sweet; 
But  they,  divided  by  a  strip  of  land, 
Find  searching  vain,  and  are  forever  bann'd 
From  seeing  more,  nor  can  they  hope  to  meet. 


O  NATURE ;  them  with  countless  forms  re- 
plete, 

In  the  ever-shifting  pageant  of  thy  day, 
Our  hearts  may  find  a  honey  bitter-sweet, 
Strangely  combined  with  gladness  and  dismay! 
Where  are  those  days,  within  thy  vast  confine, 
When  I  could  hear  naught  but  a  bird's  clear 

song? 

A  hyacinth,  immeasureable  and  divine, 
Seem'd  in  the  sky  its  youth  still  to  prolong; 
And  over  all,  where'er  I  looked  I  seemed 
To  see  rays  softer  than  I  ever  dreamed 
Around  about  the  swaying  roses  fold; 
And  every  being  quick  with  zestful  life; 
I  saw  alone  the  threads  of  silk  and  gold 
That  run  throughout  this  dismal  human  strife. 


[110] 


II 


BUT  since  my  soul  its  weight  of  sorrow  bore 
My  eyes  are  opened :  in  the  darkening  sky 
The  shining  flower  of  heaven  is  no  more, 
The  morning  rays  have  ceased  to  beautify. 
In  the  world  bound  about  with  grief  and  fear, 
So  full  of  ruined  nests  and  hearts  in  twain, 
I  see  the  ruthless  clasp  of  woe  adhere 
To  every  being,  suffering  unjust  pain. 
I  see  that  grief  springs  from  eternal  law; 
I  see  long  torment  hid  in  every  joy, 
The  wither'd  petals  in  every  flower  I  saw; 
And  the  end  of  Time  that  must  destroy 
All  but  the  proud  ensigns  of  Death's  array, 
For   whom   Life   has   prepared   its   long'd-for 
prey. 


[Ill] 


THERE  is  a  pitiless  reef  of  memory 
Whereon  my  blind  and  mangled  heart  is 

blown ; 

A  year  ago  to-night  you  vowed,  with  me, 
To  love  no  more,  to  live  and  die  alone. 
Day,  by  the  savage  darkness  overthrown, 
Bleeds  out  her  life,  as  though  in  agony, 
In    the    crimson   West;   while    drearily    makes 

moan 

The  North  Wind  on  the  troubled  waste  of  sea. 
Here  on  this  cliff,  drenched  with  the  spray, 

forlorn 

With  clamorous  cry  of  gulls  blown  in  to  shore, 
Shall  I  watch  out  the  night,  till  storms  give 

o'er, 
And  skies  are  torn  to  shreds  and  winds  have 

ceased ; 
Till   haggard,   gaunt   and   blind,   disconsolate 

Morn 
Drags  herself,  weeping,  up  the  desolate  East. 


JUST  as  my  sorrow  lies  at  my  life's  core, 
Thy  grief  dwells  in  the  wounded  heart  of 

mine; 

And  as  my  grief  shall  bleed  forever  more, 
So  down  beneath  shall  bleed  the  pain  of  thine. 
And  when  my  grief  would  have  surfeit  of  woe, 
There  dawns  within  an  anguish  more  remote, 
Of  which  mine  seems  but  echoes,  faint  and  slow, 
As  in  this  halting  verse  they  dimly  float. 
But  sorrow  such  as  this  no  words  can  tell, 
It  lies  beneath  my  sobs,  within  the  whole 
Of  this  my  weary  being  long  distressed — 
It  swells  within  the  chasm  of  my  soul; 
This  grief  of  my  long  sorrow  now  must  dwell 
Deep  within  me,  ever  unexpressed. 


[113] 


II 


AS  one  who  on  the  edge  of  some  dim  lake, 
Whose  waters  from  the  nearby  woods  as- 
sume 

The  swarthy  hue,  heeds  not  the  laws  that  make 
The  place  so  heavy  with  the  dread  of  gloom, 
Sometimes  my  own  grief  only  do  I  know, 
Nor  deem  the  thought  of  thee  can  form  a  part, 
I  think  it  is  alone  from  out  my  heart 
That  surges  this  infinity  of  woe; 
And  I  forget,  or  seem  to,  all  thy  pain, 
Thy  firmer  love  and  thy  fidelity ; 
Surprised  that  any  soul  should  thus  contain 
Unwearied  power  for  endless  grief,  I  see 
That  'tis  the  thought  of  thee  and  pain  of  thine 
That  swells  obscurely  from  the  depths  of  mine. 


[114] 


ACCEPTANCE 


WHEN,  to  my  quiet  room  wherefrom  I  see 
Gray  wastes  of  barren  plain  where  the 

wind  weeps, 

The  groping  winter  twilight  softly  creeps, 
I  brood  upon  the  pictured  face  of  thee, 
That   seems,    as   darkness   grows,   to   take   on 

grace 

Of  piteous,  speechless  meanings,  as  the  pale 
Eurydice  yearned  mutely  while  the  veil 
Of  death  swathed  her  in  silence;  so  thy  face, 
White  amid  hungry  shadows  gathering  fast 
And  closing  over  thee,  grows  luminous 
And  bathed  in  tears,  until  it  sinks  at  last, 
Drowning    in    darkness.     Then,    against    the 

bars 

Of  the  window  I  lean  and  marvel,  gazing  thus 
At  the  faint,  perpetual  trembling  of  the  stars. 


[117] 


THE  steeds  enraged  that  the  dawn  doth  lead 
With  reins  of  burnished  gold  she  doth  ex- 
cite 

To  leap  across  the  sky  in  maddened  speed 
And   gallop   through   the   scattered   shreds   of 

night. 

And  night,  surprised  in  flight  too  long  delayed, 
Is  rolled  beneath  their  burning  hoofs  and  there 
Lies  shattered,  bleeding,  and  the  blood-red 

shade 

Is  caught  and  shed  through  heaven  everywhere ; 
But  soon  from  out  this  red  and  tortured  mass 
The  purest  rays  of  morning  light  shall  shine. 
Is  there  not  one  of  you,  0  bleeding  hearts, 
Upon  whom  duty's  mighty  weight  doth  pass 
And  turns  to  prayer  those  sighs  and  pains  of 

thine, 
And  from  thy  grief  a  burning  faith  imparts? 


[118] 


A   DREAM  that  followed  on  our  sad  fare- 
well, 

Showed  you  to  me  against  a  sky  of  blue 
That  soared  in  depth  on  liquid  depth  and  fell 
Sheer  to  the  margins  of  a  sea  that  drew 
Long  draughts   of  azure  from  the   sky.     To 

tell 

Your  robe's  clear  color  were  to  name  the  hue 
That  loves  in  freezing  glaciers  to  dwell ; 
Above  the  golden  gorgon's  head  that  drew 
Your  robe  together  with  its  twisted  face 
Of  agony,  your  eyes  were  wells  of  grace. 
And   when   my   hands    you   mutely   filled   with 

showers 

Of  fresh  forget-me-nots,  as  though  with  years 
Of  memories,  I  bent  to  the  sweet  flowers 
And  crushed  them  to  my  eyes  to  hide  the  tears. 


[119] 


MAY  it  be — should  fate  grant  that  we  meet 
again — 

Within  some  wood  deep-veiled  from  the  sun, 
The  time  when  sadly  autumn  has  begun 
In  the  high  trees,  disconsolate,  to  complain; 
When  slowly,  one  by  one,  the  seared  leaves 
Are  drifting  through  the  chill,  fog-laden  air, 
To  form  below  their  cloth  of  gold  that  cleaves 
To  the  damp  earth,  awaiting,  cold  and  bare. 
Sometimes  in  such  despoiled  wilderness, 
Where  autumn  shows  the  lonely  nests  on  high, 
A  few  pale  sunbeams  fall  like  gentle  rain 
On  tardy  buds  to  give  a  soft  caress, 
Or  on  a  flaming  red-breast  perched  nearby; 
'Tis  in  such  place  that  we  must  meet  again. 


[120] 


GO !  thou  hast  triumphed,  0  my  noble  one ! 
From  the  stern  love  that  bleeds  within 

thy  soul 

Shall  come  a  fragrance,  as  the  years  pass  on; 
By  which  thou  shalt  be  cured  and  made  whole. 
Thy  children  then  shall  grow  between  us  two, 
Their  lives,  like  a  wall  turned  toward  the  light, 
Shall  rise — a  curtain,  thus  to  hide  from  view 
The  untold  blackness  of  my  weary  night; 
And  less  and  less  shall  thy  thought  dwell  with 

mine, 

Where  stricken  love  must  pine  without  relief, 
And  to  its  own  low  questions  make  replies; 
The  first  confused  words,  the  lights  that  shine 
From  out  a  little  grandchild's  baby  eyes 
Forever  then  shall  cover  thy  long  grief. 


[121] 


O  MEMORIES  that  in  this  verse  I  close, 
You  that  I  preserve,  O  withered  flowers, 
For  you  retain  some  perfume  yet  of  those 
Green    places    where    you    grew,    and    dusky 

bowers, 

You  are  but  a  handful  of  remember'd  hours 
Gathered    from    gardens    where    sweet    revery 

grows, 

A  single  hidden  branch,  where  cluster  showers 
Of  blossoms  of  past  joys,  forgotten  woes. 
To  the  great  happiness  that  my  heart  bears 
Your  joy  but  as  a  dry,  pressed  bud  compares 
To  flowerful  meadows  where  the  birds  are  loud ; 
And  all  your  sorrow  is  to  my  long  grief 
Of  heart,  but  as  the  wand'ring  withered  leaf 
To  the  deep  forest's  desolation  proud. 


[122J 


'••'   1 1 1   II    1 1   II    I   III   II 

A     000042121     4 


